


Don't die

by shittershutter



Category: Deadpool (Movieverse)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Self-Destruction, Wade kind of dies a little bit but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 15:32:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14751560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shittershutter/pseuds/shittershutter
Summary: Wade dies for the first time teetering on the edge of his second orgasm that evening. He is gone for six seconds before his throat convulses against the metal arm squeezing it, eyes snap open and he stains Nate's chest generously pretending nothing happened.





	Don't die

**Author's Note:**

> I saw Deadpool 2 and I'm SO sorry, everyone, part II.
> 
> It's a bit bloody and Wade kind of dies for a second there but not really.
> 
> * Unbetad. Sorry.

Wade dies for the first time teetering on the edge of his second orgasm that evening. He is gone for six seconds before his throat convulses against the metal arm squeezing it, eyes snap open and he stains Nate's chest generously pretending nothing happened. 

It's hard to detect and it's the mechanical part of him that does it, only because its senses are a bare algorithm, no distracting human part layered on top. 

As it keeps crushing Wade's throat it alerts him about a barely noticeable switch of his oxygen-deprived brain as it flashes off and then in a few seconds on again. 

Those are the long fucking seconds. 

Nate doesn't say to the man: "Let me know when it's too much," because that'll be a dare, a challenge that is completely uncalled for. The answer to that is always _never_. 

He tries to calibrate his touch to be able to tell seconds before instead of seconds after. Just like he's adjusted his body and its reflexes to Wade in general.

It feels like fucking a glamorous leather purse at first but now he doesn't even go for a gun when Wade brushes against him in his sleep. And knowing Wade, grabbing the nearest weapon when in doubt is very reasonable. 

11777 shows up an hour later, right on time, the sex worker from the app Wade's been dicking around with earlier. They are not allowed to know her name but they are encouraged to rate the performance from 1 to 5 stars and leave a tip if the service is satisfactory. 

The usual conversation in hushed tones follows. The strangest thing about the past is how prejudiced they all are about body enhancements. It's hard for Nate to even comprehend how something so insignificant can be a matter of a heated discussion a few decades back in time. 

"I don't do bots, it's in the fucking Terms of Service," she whispers theatrically. 

"He's not a cyborg, it's a medical condition. Have a heart," Wade hisses back, much softer as if to spare Nate's feelings. "And your profile said "Mutant friendly".

The conversation goes and goes while he finishes all the beer in the ratty motel room they've holed up in for the night and then clicks through the channels using his eye to access the tv's matrix.

"Human brain, human penis," Wade announces proudly, moving his hand in a grand gesture up and down. "The bot and the pizza face -- _pizza everything_ \-- at your service."

"I wanted to be a spacecraft engineer," she mutters to herself but steps into the room. 

"I'm not taking the monstrosity up my ass, though," she quickly adds struggling through the lace and the chiffon down her legs. 

"Oh I'm taking it up my ass later," Wade assures her. "Not your job." 

He then tickles the underside of the dick in question with tentative fingers, and Nate's knees jump a little at the familiar roughness. As the scars ate Wade's fingerprints -- which is convenient given the profession he's in -- they took the remaining humanity from the touch. It's still warm, he still knows where to stroke and where to press.

"It's not even its final form," Wade adds in a rough dramatic whisper.

It takes a lot of blood to get the damn thing going. Wade circles the dick in a relaxed fist and thumbs the sensitive spot right under the head insistently until he starts to leak and Nate hides his face into the younger man's stomach with a heavy sigh. 

"There, there," Wade whispers, stroking the shaved back of his head gently. "Reveal yourself."

Nate buckles against the wrist and digs the metal fingers into Wade's leg in retaliation hard enough to leave bloody bruises. Short-lived as they are, it gives him some brief satisfaction. 

He fucks 11777 then as she straddles his thighs and rides him with a professional enthusiasm as Wade sits between their knees crunching on whatever annoyingly loud snack he's found in the minibar, his face stuck somewhere between a scientist observing the work of his life coming to fruition and a kid who is about to open the biggest Christmas present. 

"Nevermind me, I just wanna watch the damn thing work," he mutters in mock reverence as she tries to reach for him to engage him in the process. 

He still slides his sticky fingers -- covered in crumbs and smelling of bacon as they are -- up Nate's inner thighs, thumbs rubbing soft circles into the warm skin. 

There are parts of him that are humanly sensitive, even ticklish at times, and Wade just pokes around unceremoniously until he finds them all and memorizes them by heart. 

"Aw, daddy, look at you, you're so in love," 11777 coos. "Your _pizza boy_ just touches you once and you're ready to burst."

"Don't do the daddy thing," Wade remarks moments before it hits Nate where it hurts. "We don't like the daddy thing. Makes us travel into the future that never will be and relive the traumatic events we hopefully kind of prevented. "

She opens her mouth to retract the statement and closes it again when Wade presses his mouth to where their bodies connect, soft folds swallowing the hard length. 

The grunt she makes is not entirely pleased and Nate squeezes her side warningly. Mutant friendly his ass. 

It's one avocado joke too many and Wade fucks with his suit on for weeks until it starts smelling like a colony of hamsters has died in there and Nate has to tear it off.

Wade is wearing his mask up to the nose which means he's not too comfortable and yes, the scars have eaten his lips, too, cutting through like rust does through the metal until what he's pressing to their vulnerable parts is essentially a hole with teeth in it. It takes time to get used to. 

It's a beautiful hole once you get used to it. And he's pretty sure she's seen much worse.

Wade senses the shift still and moves to the well-traveled roads of the older man's balls by tonguing them a little before sucking them in. It's well-timed and fucking professional in its stealth so he comes with a threatening growl, teeth bared, pawing at the rolled up mask at the top of the man's head. 

"Now I'll lay on your lap and you stroke my wavy golden hair and tell me I'm better than you while he fucks my breakfast into my lunch."

"Look at him, the old man wants to cuddle."

Wade can't really look into his face yet as he continues to lick him clean thoughtfully until his dick is shiny with spit. He then pretends he just has to keep the head in his mouth, pressing around it with his tongue to get all the remaining discharge out. 

"Don't tell me what my man wants," he mumbles around the dick in his mouth, throwing an accusing finger out. "Besides, I've paid for an hour."

He leans against the mechanical hand that cradles his head and lets the sucking morph into kissing to ease the pain of separation. Nate looks at him, teeth greeted with how oversensitive he is, and just wants to see his eyes so bad. 

He grunts pitifully, his human finger rubbing under the masked eye.

"You do wanna cuddle, you old creep," Wade doesn't sound very surprised. "Which I am not shaming you for, by the way, the softhearted challenger of an outdated definition of masculinity that you are." 

He gets up losing the train of thought as the blood shifts in his body and goes to _freshen up the fuckhole_. When he returns, he attempts a quite ambitious backward flip to get himself onto the bed, gets a few degrees off course and crashes his skull against the marble bedside table. 

After a few long seconds, his arm shoots up to wave dismissively, the frontal lobe seemingly unaffected, and as the blood spreads through the fibers of the cheap carpet, 11777 says:

"You have fun, gentlemen."

And she's gone in a blink of an eye, her nonchalance just as professional as her enthusiasm was earlier. 

Nate sits on the bed, his cooling shiny dick lying between his thighs like the saddest mutant slug in existence until Wade's body comes to life again with unsure raspy breaths. 

Nate's future phone beeps, turning his eye on in a bloody red flicker, the text message from the escort service being projected through it into the wall. 

The session was terminated because they've ordered something that wasn't on the menu, it reads, i.e., necrophilia. So they've been charged full price and won't be refunded. 

Nate turns his mechanical arm, switching the touchpad in his palm on. "It was temporary brain damage," he punches in. "Nothing about that in your ToS." 

He then leaves the four stars taking one off for _pizza boy_ and flops to the bed kicking his foot against it in the same rhythm Wade's heart kicks against his ribs as it restarts.

After a while, tentative fingers walk up Nate's leg, from the ankle to the knee, in a way that is physically possible only with a severely dislocated wrist. That does it, helps the plea that he's been carrying in his human brain for some time form.

He catches the hand and twists the palm back into place without looking and holding it he mutters: "I don't want to watch you die anymore."

It takes time for the neurons to regrow and reconnect so Wade's speech still hasn't caught up with his rapidly regenerating brain. 

"Wh... whuh?"

"This..." Nate gestures at the red sea of blood eating through the green fungus of the carpet inches from his foot. "This doesn't make me hard."

Wade jerks upright, hand still in his, pounding against the side of the head to focus his vision. 

"Aw, baby, you can hurt me if I consent," he coos with a wet smooch against the back of the older man's palm.

"Oh, I will fucking hurt you alright. I don't want you dead in bed with me." 

He winces right after he says it because it's vague and has a shitload of loopholes for Wade to weasel through. And the man dispenses them all on him right that second in an involuntary outburst he can't really help. 

Can he die in the kitchen, then? Bathroom, garage? Do the brief comas count? Loss of consciousness, loss of blood, loss of motherfucking limbs on special occasions like anniversaries and Labor Day? 

Nate waits patiently for the words to settle, metal fingers drumming against the sensitive part of his kneecap just on the right edge of unpleasant.

There are things upon things he does for Wade he personally doesn't care for. 

Wade's entire collection of lace panties is something he's indifferent about. But the man occasionally wants them on and he's not allowed to take them off or god forbid stretch or tear them. 

He has to push them out of the way when they fuck and the lace is terrible against his dick but the hot body around it makes up for it at the moment. And Wade whimpers in a way that makes up for it, too, each time the older man touches his covered erection with a feather-light touch and calls him his girl with a filthy wet pussy. 

The point is, nothing says "I love you" like a chaffed penis. 

When Wade tells him he wants his fist, he knows damn well it's not the flesh one they're talking about. He agrees and the man promises and swears, swears on his mother's fucking grave he won't move until Nate says he can.

On the third finger in it hits him he doesn't even know if Wade's mother is dead. And right on cue, sensing his hesitation, the man just grabs his bicep and shoves himself onto the entire thing up the elbow with a howl that is somewhere between agony and ecstasy. 

It's blood and guts everywhere and Nate just sits there like a horror show puppet master clinging to his wits to pull the hand out. 

Nothing says "I love you" like cleaning the pieces of your lover's intestinal wall off your metal fingers. 

"Okay," Wade finally says and closes his mouth. "Give me a moment to wash the blood off."

They shower together in a cubicle that is clearly meant for one regular-sized human -- Nate has to stick one elbow out just to fit -- and Wade talks about the unrelated stuff he's learned to tune out. The bare hole with teeth he has for a mouth is pressed flush against the older man's ear so he doesn't miss anything. The mask is still on halfway covering his face.

Nate makes sweet, sweet love to that hole with those teeth with his tongue until the body pressed between tiles and him is boneless. He doesn't try to take the mask off all the way. The forgotten song from the eighties vibrates through his skull on the loop as Wade hums through it, verses, choruses, guitar solos and all. 

Wade opens the windows, the roaring voice of the city crashing through the silence, to get the metallic smell of blood out, tears off the curtain and throws it atop the blood stain size of a fifth grader holding a beach ball, with some shards of the skull spiked in. 

He makes Nate sit on the bed while he licks him back to hardness, his tongue soft in sharp contrast to how the rest of him feels. It's dark around them with occasional splashes of neon light coming through the window, and Nate's temples buzz a little with the dissonance of one of his eyes not seeing shit and the other seeing the man's head bobbing between his spread knees. 

"Now that's the dick I'm gonna marry," Wade says leaning back and admiring his work. He reaches for his phone, twists around to grab the organ in his hand and snaps a selfie with it holding it like an Academy Award next to his face. 

Nate smacks the side of his head. Love is kicking some sense in your indestructible man on occasion.

They fuck exactly like Nate and 11777 fucked earlier, chest to back, with Wade bobbing on the length inside him just enough to create some semblance of friction. 

"No fingering, you fucking creep!" he yelps earlier when Nate touches his hole tentatively. "Give me at least that. Throw me a bone, come on."

It's tight to an uncomfortable degree but Nate pushes his massive thighs off the bed and fucks him loose soon enough, his metal and flesh parts vibrating with the same tension, same frequency. 

The mask comes off in a beautiful flying curve and falls somewhere they for sure won't find it in the morning and when Wade puts his head on the older man's shoulder, he can finally see his eye throwing a quick glance his way before closing tightly.

Nate gives that eyelid a quick _gotcha!_ kiss, traveling along the sharp bone where his eyebrow used to be, then down to the mouth. 

They come kissing -- Wade tries to talk around a mouthful of tongue up his tonsils at first but then shuts up concentrating on fucking the other man's fist instead.

They breathe, and the city roars, and it's quiet between them. Nate has to clean the copious amounts of come from between his metal digits and their room smells like a literal murder but at the very least no one dies anymore that night.


End file.
